Luca walked through the quad the next morning like someone trying to remember how to breathe.
His steps were smaller. Shoulders curved in just slightly. Not enough for most to notice—but enough for him to feel. Like his body was trying to make itself smaller, less bright, less tempting.
But it didn't matter.
Eyes still followed him.
Voices still dropped to whispers.
Boys still turned heads when he passed.
But now… he was listening for one voice.
Marcus hadn't said when he'd show up again. Hadn't asked for anything. But still—Luca felt like he was being watched.
Not in a paranoid way.
In a trained way.
He could still feel Marcus's breath near his neck. Still hear the words:
"You want someone to protect you?"
"Or ruin you?"
It haunted him. And worse—excited him in the most shameful way.
That night, he hadn't touched himself. But he'd wanted to.
And he hated that he'd wanted to.
Ezra was waiting for him outside the library.
He popped up like he'd been rehearsing the moment.
"Luca," he said brightly. "I was hoping I'd catch you."
Luca blinked, still fogged.
"You okay?" Ezra asked, stepping in close. "You look a little… shaken."
Luca gave a small shrug. "Didn't sleep much."
Ezra leaned in. "Nightmares?"
"Something like that."
Ezra smiled—too warmly. "Well, you should talk to someone about it."
He reached out, fingers grazing Luca's arm like it was instinct.
Luca didn't pull away.
But he didn't smile either.
Ezra noticed.
"Hey," he said, his voice dipping. "You know you can trust me, right?"
Luca nodded once.
Ezra's smile returned. "Good. I was thinking… maybe we grab food later. Off campus. There's this place near Ridgehill. Real quiet."
He said it with softness. But his eyes watched Luca too carefully—like a hunter gauging his prey's reaction to the bait.
Luca hesitated. "Maybe."
Ezra smirked. "That's not a no."
Marcus didn't show up to lunch.
But Luca still felt him.
He sat in the courtyard with a group of students, mostly silent. He could feel his skirt hem grazing his thigh, and kept adjusting it out of nervous habit—even though he'd traded it for uniform pants today. Somehow, he still felt exposed.
Then it happened.
As he stood to take his tray, someone brushed behind him.
A hand—not a shove, not a pat—a full press, across the curve of his lower back.
Marcus.
He didn't speak.
He just passed by, slow, with a glance over his shoulder and a flicker of smirk that said you know exactly what I just did.
Luca's body flushed hot. He didn't move. Not right away.
That touch—silent, claiming—felt like a thread had been pulled through his spine.
It said: You're mine already.
And somehow… Luca believed it.
That night, Luca lay in bed again—this time in silence, in stillness, with his heart aching and body tense.
He didn't know what Marcus wanted from him.
But he knew what Marcus could do to him.
And that… thrilled him. Terrified him.
He thought about Ezra. His smile. His touch.
It felt safe—but performative. Like a trick. Like friendship with hands always ready to slide lower.
Marcus didn't pretend.
Marcus took space.
And somehow, Luca's body responded to that—not with trust, but with surrender.
He wasn't choosing.
He was slipping.
And deep down, he didn't know if he wanted to be caught… or consumed.